


Fits the Crime

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Enemy Lovers, F/M, Femdom, Flogging, Forced Masturbation, Future Fic, Impact Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-11-13 00:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: Rose has never agreed with the decision to grant Kylo clemency. She’d rather see him locked in a dungeon, shackled and helpless – but with that off the table, her innovator’s mind has found another way to administer justice.There’s nothing she can do to force this on him. There’s nothing he can do to make himself say no.





	Fits the Crime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outruntheavalanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/gifts).



‘Kneel,’ says Rose.

Her anger washes over him as she stands there, scowling, in her overalls and utility belt. She doesn’t like this any more than he does, but there’s nothing forcing her to be here. No reason she needed to answer when he reached out.

He _could_ force her. He could crack her mind open like a flimsy last-gen ion shield and knead its contents into a shape that made her gasp and whimper and beg for more. He could take all her pride and rage and turn them into sharply honed weapons against her. But he doesn’t.

There’s nothing forcing him to be here, either. No psychic or physical power she can wield to make him obey. Outside this dirty boiler room, nearby and impossibly far away, there are people who see a good in Kylo that he’s barely ever glimpsed from the corner of his eye. There’s forgiveness and freedom and luminous redemption in a gilded cage of kindness where his captors only want what’s best for him. Gentle voices and _how are you today, Ben_ and _you’re doing the right thing, you know_.

Kylo wasn’t thinking about what was right when he turned his back on the First Order. He wanted their kindness, wanted those gentle voices like a hole in his chest that swallowed every other thought. He could be out there right now, at his mother’s side, enjoying the sweet rewards of a second chance that’s come to him more easily than he had any right to dream.

Instead, he comes here.

‘Kneel,’ says Rose, and so he does.

Her hands are rough as she strips the tunic off his shoulders, exposing his chest and back with the dispassionate efficiency of a mechanic prying open an engine case. He’d know what’s coming even if he couldn’t see the length of cord looped through her belt. Rose has never agreed with the decision to grant Kylo clemency. She’d rather see him locked in a dungeon, shackled and helpless – but with that off the table, her innovator’s mind has found another way to administer justice.

The first strike cuts the air with a snap and paints a searing line of pain down Kylo’s back. It’s not the pain he’s used to from years spent falling short of Snoke’s ever-shifting expectations. It’s more basic, more human, somehow primal in its heat and sharpness. It’s clean and bright and it makes him gasp. Another blow lands beside it, cutting a neat welt between his shoulder blades. Her accuracy has improved since the first time they did this. Rose wasn’t born with an instinct for cruelty, but life has taught her well.

He thinks of saying so. Thinks better of it, and files the thought away instead for a night when he truly needs her to hurt him.

Rose doesn’t speak either as she lays into him with her length of cord. She’s moved past the need for cold words and recriminations since they first started doing this – now, each flick of her wrist does the speaking for her, each welt on Kylo’s back all she needs by way of answer. The blows rain down, lashing his skin from shoulder to rib until every inch of skin is blazing and hot sweat prickles on Kylo’s brow. When she beats him like this, the whole world melts away. There’s no guilt. No redemption. No precarious balance of light and dark.

There’s nothing she can do to force this on him, but there’s nothing he can do to make himself stop.

‘All fours,’ Rose snaps, and Kylo complies. He needs it to hurt. Needs her anger written on his skin like a firebrand, and he doesn’t try to stop her when she yanks his trousers past his hips and bares his buttocks to her wrath.

The whip cuts into tender flesh and Kylo gasps again, arms starting to tremble beneath his weight. He never knows where it will go after this and he doesn’t try to read it in her mind, because the thrill of not knowing adds a keen edge to the building pressure. Some nights she’ll beat him until he collapses, trembling on the duracrete floor with the noise from the nearby boilers masking his groans from the outside world. But tonight –

‘Touch yourself.’ She says it like the coldest of reprimands. ‘Tell me you want this. Tell me it’s what you deserve.’

Another lash to his buttocks. ‘It’s what I deserve,’ Kylo says, breathless, and he relishes the cognitive dissonance – knowing how cruelly she means the words and how rapturously he enjoys them. Sometimes he thinks there’s only so much kindness he can cope with, only so long he can last in love before he needs someone to hate him. Snoke used to give him both, but Snoke is dead. His mother loves him. His new allies forgive him. Rose does neither, and she never will.

Her vengeful anger is hot, consuming bliss.

‘Touch yourself,’ she demands again, whip cracking lower so that it catches the sensitive backs of his thighs. Kylo hisses through his teeth and grabs his cock, already hard where it hangs underneath him. He strokes, and she beats in time with the movement of his hand, hard and light and hard again in a jarring non-rhythm that foils all efforts to brace against it. The cord lashes his thighs, his buttocks, his back. His skin burns. His balls draw tight. The need builds to fever pitch.

He never lasts long once they reach this point. The long day’s pressures come to a head and his nerves translate the pain into a pleasure too strong and urgent to resist.

Kylo cries out when he comes, spilling hard and hot on the ground as the cord strikes his thighs one final time. He’s shaking. Sore. Wracked with release. There’ll be marks all over him, violent souvenirs to hide beneath his clothes when he goes out to face the kindness of the outside world.

But for now, in this dark and dirty boiler room, there’s no threat of kindness to be found. ‘Look at you,’ Rose says. ‘The great Kylo Ren, kneeling to an Outer Rim nobody. If only all the other people you’ve wronged could see you like this.’ The disdain is audible in her voice. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Yeah,’ says Kylo, sitting back on his knees and bowing his head. His hair falls forward so that she can’t see the sweat-soaked, twisted smile that plays across his face. ‘It hurts.’

‘Good. It serves you right.’ Her voice cracks a little, and he doesn’t bother trying to read the emotion that trickles out from its confinement. Rose wasn’t born with an instinct for cruelty. But whatever toll this takes on her, it isn’t his problem. There’s nothing forcing her to do it. ‘Now thank me. For giving you what you deserve.’

The duracrete is hard on Kylo’s knees. The boilers chug away in the gloom. There’s nothing forcing him, either.

‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘For giving me what I deserve.’

 


End file.
